In the olden time it was no easy matter for a man to
become a Freemason.

He had to win the right by hard work, technical skill,
and personal worth. Then, as now, he had to prove himself a freeman,
of lawful age, legitimate birth, of sound body and good repute to even be
eligible at all. Also, he had to bind himself to serve under rigid
rules for seven years, his service being at once a test of his charac-ter
and a training for his work. If he proved incompetent or unworthy, he
was sent away.

In all operative lodges of the Middle Ages, as in the
guilds of skilled artisans of the same period, young men entered as
Apprentices, vowing absolute obedience, for the lodge was a school of the
seven sciences, as well as of the art of building. At first the
Apprentice was little more than a servant, doing the most menial work, and
if he proved himself trustworthy and proficient his wages were increased;
but, the rules were never relaxed, "except at Christmastime," as the Old
Charges tell us, when there was a period of freedom duly celebrated with
feast and frolic.

The rules by which an Apprentice pledged himself to
live, as we find them recorded in the Old Charges, were very strict.
He had first to confess his faith in God, vowing to honor the Church, the
State, and the Master under whom he served; agreeing not to absent himself
from the service of the Order save with the license of the Master.
He must be honest and upright, faithful in keeping the secrets of the Craft
and the Confidence of his fellows.
He must not only be chaste, but must not marry or contract himself to any
women during the term of his Apprenticeship. He must be obedient to
the Master without argument or murmuring, respectful to all Freemasons,
avoiding uncivil speech, free from slander and dispute. He must not
frequent any tavern or alehouse, except it be upon an errand of the Master,
or with his consent.

Such was the severe rule under which an Apprentice
learned the art and secrets of the Craft. After seven years of study
and discipline, either in the lodge or t the Annual Assembly (where awards
were usually made), he presented his "Masterpiece," some bit of stone or
metal carefully carved, for the inspection of the Master, saying, "Behold ny
experience!" By which he meant the sum of his experiments. He
had spoiled many a bit of stone. He had spent laborious nights and
days, and the whole was in that tiny bit of work. His Masterpiece was
carefully examined by the Masters assembled and if it was approved he was
made a Master Mason, entitled to take his kit of tools and go out as a
workman, a Master and Fellow of his Craft. Not, however, until he had
selected a Mark by which his work could be identified, and renewed his vows
to the Order in which he was now a Fellow.

The old order was first Apprentice, then Master, then
Fellow - Mastership being, in the early time, not a degree conferred, but a
reward of skill as a workman and of merit as a man. The reversal of
the order today is due, no doubt, to the custom of the German Guilds, where
a Fellow Craft was required to serve two additional years as a journeyman
before becoming a Master. No such custom was known in England.
Indeed, the reverse was true, and it was the Apprentice who prepared his
Masterpiece, and if it was accepted, he became a Master. Having won
his mastership, he was entitled to become a Fellow - that is, a peer and
Fellow of the Craft which hitherto he had only served. Hence, all
through the Old Charges, the order is "Masters and Fellows,"
but there are signs to show that a distinction was made according to ability
and skill.

For example, in the Matthew Cooke MS, we read that it
had been "ordained that they who were passing of cunning should be passing
honored," and those less skilled were commanded to call the more skilled
"Masters." Then it is added, "They that were less of wit should not be
called servant nor subject, but Fellow, for nobility of their gentle blood."
After this manner our ancient brethren faced the fact of human inequality of
ability and initiative. Those who were of greater skill held a higher
position and were called Masters, while the masses of the Craft were called
Fellows.
A further distinction must be made between "Master" and a "Master of the
Work," now represented by the Master of the lodge. Between a Master
and the Master of the Work there was no difference, of course, except an
accidental one; they were both Masters and Fellows.
Any Master could become a Master of the Work provided he was of sufficient
skill and had the fortune to be chosen as such either by the employer or the
lodge, or both.

What a rite or ritual, if any, accompanied the making of
a Master in the old operative lodges is still a mater of discussion.
In an age devoted to ceremonial it is hard to imagine such an important
event without its appropriate ceremony, but the details are obscure.
But this is plain enough; all the materials out of which the degrees were
later developed existed, if not in drama, at least in legend.
Elaborate drama would not be necessary in an operative lodge. Even
today, much of what is acted out in an American Lodge, is merely recited in
an English Lodge. Students seem pretty well agreed that from a very
early time there were two ceremonies, or degrees, although, no doubt, in a
much less elaborate form than now practiced. As the Order, after the
close of the Cathedral-Building period passed into its speculative
character, there would naturally be many changes and much that was routine
in an operative lodge became ritual in a speculative lodge.

This is not the time to discuss the origin and
development of the Third Degree, except to say that those who imagine that
it was an invention fabricated by Anderson and others at the time of the
revival of Masonry, in 1717, are clearly wrong. Such a degree could
have never been imposed upon the Craft, unless it harmonized with some
previous ceremony, or, at least, with ideas, traditions and legends familiar
and common to the members of the Craft. That such ideas and traditions
did exist in the Craft we have ample evidence. Long before 1717 we
hear hints increase as the office of Master of the Work lost its practical
aspect after the Cathedral-Building period. What was the Master's
part? Unfortunately we cannot discuss it in print; but nothing is
plainer than, that we do not have to go outside of Masonry itself to find
the materials out of which all three degrees, as they now exist, were
developed.

Masonry was not invented; it grew. Today it
unfolds its wise and good and beautiful truth in three noble and impressive
degrees, and no man can take them to heart and not be ennobled and enriched
by their dignity and beauty. The First lays emphasis upon that
fundamental righteousness without which a man is not a man, but a medley of
warring passions - that purification of heart which is the basis alike of
life and religion. The Second lays stress upon the culture of the
mind, the training of its faculties in the quest of knowledge, without which
man remains a child. The Third seeks to initiate us, symbolically,
into the eternal life, making us victors over death before it arrives.
The First is the Degree of Youth, the Second the Degree of Manhood, the
Third the consolation and conquest of Old Age, when evening shadows
fall and the Eternal World and its unknown adventure draw near.

What then, for each of us today. is meant by the
Master's Piece? Is it simply a quaint custom handed down from our
ancient brethren, in which we learn how an Apprentice was made a Master of
his Craft? It is that indeed, but much more. Unless we have eyes
to see double meaning everywhere in Masonry, a moral application and a
spiritual suggestion, we see little or nothing. But if we have eyes to
see it is always a parable, an allegory, a symbol, and the Master's Piece of
olden time becomes an emblem of that upon which every man is working all the
time and everywhere, whether he is aware of it or not - his character, his
personality, by which he will be tested and tried at last. Character,
as the word means, is something carved, something wrought out of the raw
stuff and hard material of life. All we do, all we think, goes into
the making of it. Every passion, every aspiration has to do with it.
If we are selfish, it is ugly. If we are hateful, it is hideous.
Williams James went so far as to say that just as the stubs remain in the
checkbook to register the transaction when the check is removed, so every
mental act, every deed becomes a part of our being and character. Such
a fact makes a man ponder and consider what he is making out of his life,
and what it will look like at the end. Like the Masons of old, apprenticed
in the school of life, we work for "a penny a day." We never receive a
large sum all at once, but the little reward of daily duties. The
scholar, the man of science attains truth, not in a day, but slowly, little
by little, fact by fact. In the same way, day by day, act by act, we
make our character by which we shall stand judged before the Master of all
Good Work. Often enough men make such a bad botch of it that they have
to begin all over again. The greatest truth taught in religion is the
forgiveness of God, which erases the past and gives us another chance.
All of us have spoiled enough material, dulled enough tools and made enough
mistakes to teach us that life without charity is cruel and bitter.

Goethe, a great Mason, said that talent may develop in
solitude, but character is created in society. It is the fruit of
fellowship.
Genius may shine aloof and alone, like a star, but goodness is social, and
it takes two men and God to make a brother. In the Holy Book which
lies open on our Altar we read: "No man liveth unto himself; no man
dieth unto himself." We are tied together, seeking that truth which
none may learn for another, and none may learn alone. If evil men can
drag us down, good men can lift us up. No one of us is strong enough
not to need the companionship of good men and the consecration of great
ideals. Here lies, perhaps, the deepest meaning and value of Masonry;
it is fellowship
of men seeking goodness, and to yield ourselves to its influence, to be
drawn into its spirit and quest, is to be made better than ourselves. Amid
such influence each of us is making his Master's Piece. God is all the
time refining, polishing, strokes now tender, now terrible. That is
the meaning of pain, sorrow and death. It is the chisel of the Master
cutting the rough stone. How hard the mallet strikes, but the stone
becomes a pillar, an arch, perhaps an altar emblem. "Him that
overcometh, I will make a pillar in the Temple of my God." The
masterpiece of life, at once the best service to man and the fairest
offering to God, is a pure, faithful, heroic, beautiful Character.

"Oh! the Cedars of Lebanon grow at our door, And the
quarry is sunk at our gate;

And the ships out of Ophir, with Golden ore, For our
summoning mandate wait;

And the word of a Master Mason

May the house of our soul create!

While the day hath light let the light be used, For no
man shall the night control!